Driving Away
by Happily Not You
Summary: Harry crossed the room and bent down to cup Draco's face in his hands. He tilted his head up, kissed him on the forehead, and left the room without meeting his eyes. "Last chance to change your mind," he said. "You, too," Draco replied, and Harry shook his head. DRARRY SLASH YAOI DMHP HPDM


They left for France around sundown. Harry wanted to be out of there by the time his uncle Vernon got home from work. His heart was slamming as he collected the dirty clothes from his bedroom floor and shoved them into a duffel bag. Draco was sitting on the bed, probably regretting the hell out of his post-fuck offer to bring Harry with him.

"It's a fifteen-hour drive," Draco said. "I figured we could stop after five hours or so."

"Stop?" Harry said. He needed a cigarette; his hands were shaking. He'd tried forcing himself to sit up in his room until Draco stopped knocking and went away forever, but he couldn't do it, and now this, almost definitely a terrible idea, but also so good and perfect and right that he felt like he was going to explode from a sudden glut of hope.

"Stop, yeah, at a motel or whatever." Draco was pink-cheeked, still flushed from sex, or maybe blushing at the word _motel_. Harry had forgotten how to act around him, had never really known what to do with him even when they were fucking on a daily basis. He wasn't sure if he should kiss him, pat his head reassuringly, or carry him out the door to the car before he changed his mind.

"A motel," Harry said. He smirked, trying to make this some sort of joke about Draco needing to get fucked again in five hours, planning it out. Draco gave him a queasy smile.

"You don't have to do this," Harry said, because he wasn't okay with getting out the door on the force of Draco's good will alone. Draco's hands flexed over his knees.

"But I can't," he said. "I can't go without you. I really can't."

Harry had never understood why Draco kept coming through that plank in the fence. As a kid, Harry was always testing him, waiting for him to get fed up. For weeks at a time he would, and Harry would sit and stew in his backyard, alone, feeling like he'd won and lost some game that he was playing with himself. He was tired of testing Draco, who now looked like he was going to burst into tears if Harry didn't throw him a bone. Harry crossed the room and bent down to cup Draco's face in his hands. He tilted his head up, kissed him on the forehead, and left the room without meeting his eyes.

In the bathroom, he swept all the toiletries he could find into a plastic bag. He didn't have money to waste on a new tube of toothpaste, a new comb. He dug for the electric razor and added it to the bag. He'd started growing his hair out around the time Draco dumped him, in defiance of something that he had not successfully defied. Now, with Draco back, he wanted it gone.

He almost crashed into Draco as he walked back into the bedroom. Draco looked nervous, and Harry was wound so tight he was afraid they'd both combust if they touched. He gave Draco a fake cocky grin and squeezed past him, threw the toiletries into his duffel. He lovingly placed his stolen laptop on top of everything else, winding the power cord up before adding it. He grabbed his pillow from the bed, then felt stupid, but kept it tucked under his arm. After they broke up, he would bury his face in it and imagine that it still smelled a little bit like Draco. If shit went awry he would want to do that again, and whatever happened, he was never coming back here.

"Can't forget these," he said, grabbing his cigarettes off the windowsill. Draco made a face; Harry wasn't supposed to smoke in his car. That was one thing that would have to change, if they were actually doing this. Harry hoisted his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. "Last chance to change your mind," he said.

"You, too," Draco said, and Harry shook his head.

"Too late," he said. "I already packed."

They grinned at each other. Harry's anxiety only increased as they headed down the stairs, like maybe the front door would stick, the house wouldn't let him go. Draco was the one who turned the knob and threw the door open.

"It's weird," he said, standing in the doorway, silhouetted. "I actually have a lot of good memories here."

"That's nice for you," Harry said. He ushered him out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

"I mean, we lost our virginity here," Draco said, like Harry had managed to forget that. It had been a Saturday, one of those weekend mornings when Harry woke up to Draco coming into his room, locking the door behind him and stepping out of his shoes on the way to the bed. They did their usual half-awake rolling around, and somewhere between the regularly scheduled hand jobs and oral Draco announced that he'd been 'thinking.'

"We should do it," he'd said, pulling back to meet Harry's eyes. "I mean, I want to."

"It?" Harry said, afraid to hope. For years, every beat off had been about fucking the blonde, and in Harry's fantasies Draco would beg Harry to do it harder, would whimper when Harry did. Harry had forgotten to fantasize about how good it would feel, too obsessed with the worshipful noises Draco might make, so when they finally did it, Draco on his back, Jergens for lube, Harry was taken off guard and ended up making humiliating noises himself. He punched the mattress when he heard himself, and still kept moaning, couldn't stop. Draco mostly huffed in his ear and held on so hard it hurt, red marks left across Harry's back like tattoos.

"You're thinking about it," Draco said as they walked to the car, grinning.

"You can read my mind now?" Harry said. Draco laughed.

"Um, no," he said. "But I can tell when you're thinking about sex. You have this look."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Like, I don't know. Like you're sad or something."

"Sad?" Already, they were entering new terrain. Harry felt ten years older than he had when he left for his shift that morning. He threw his duffel into the backseat of Draco's car, which was already packed full of Draco's stuff, boxes overflowing with books and sneakers, a skateboard. Harry put his pillow on top of Draco's, which was wedged behind the passenger side seat.

"Like you're sad that it's over," Draco said. He pulled open the driver's side door, and Harry felt like objecting. Usually he was the driver. "Like you're afraid you'll never have it that good again."

Sad and afraid. Harry said nothing. He dug his cigarettes out and lit one as soon as his ass hit the passenger harrye seat. Draco turned on the radio, and Harry changed the station to sports talk, though he didn't care any pro teams. He needed some inane chatter to ignore as they pulled out of the driveway, through the streets of their quiet neighborhood. He was afraid his uncle would drive past, and that now would be the moment when he decided he gave a shit about Harry, enough to yank him out of the car and keep him from leaving. Just to spite him, to keep him for silent company in that house where they smoked and drank themselves to sleep before the alarm jolted them into their next shift.

"What am I going to do for work?" Harry asked as they neared the highway. As if Draco would know. He was driving with both hands on the wheel, pretending to listen to the radio while Harry chain smoked and stared out the window.

"You'll find something," Draco said. "Better. Something better."

"Who says I don't love collecting trash?" In a weird way, he did. He could be alone with his music, and nobody cared if he slung their discarded shit around, because it was trash, already worthless. It was a fitting career path for the loser Draco had thrown away.

"Well, whatever," Draco said. "You can do that again if that's what you want. I just think you might like something else more." He had that look again, the one that made Harry kiss his forehead back in the bedroom. Harry reached over and squeezed Draco's thigh, trying to thread something threatening into his attempt at reassurance.

"You're gonna, what?" Harry said. "When you finish college? Collect rocks?"

"I don't know," Draco said. "I haven't decided what I want to specialize in. But yeah, geology. That's my major."

"That pay good?" Harry was already worried about being taken care of. He had no memories of what that was like, and wouldn't know who the fuck he was if he didn't have to fend for himself.

"Sometimes," Draco said. "I mean, I hope so."

They didn't talk for a while. Career aspirations were a sensitive subject, and Harry had a habit of digging in his heels when he could tell that Draco was uncomfortable, but Draco didn't deserve that today. They were breaking free of the city traffic on the highway, out toward the wide open skies. The sun was mostly gone, cars glittering past them in the opposite lane. Harry changed the sports talk to music, and there was nothing but Top 40.

"I've got a hookup for my mp3 player," Draco said. "If you want to listen to something else. I mean – most of my music is yours, anyway. Stuff I got from you."

"You saved my songs?" Harry said. After they broke up, there were certain ones that he couldn't listen to anymore, not unless he was in the mood for torturing himself.

"Yeah, here," Draco said. He dug his player out of the glove compartment, reaching across Harry to get to it. Just the smell of his hair made Harry a little bit hard, and he was already thinking about that motel, how the bedsprings would scream for mercy, how he could fall asleep with Draco still under him and not wake up to the sound of his uncle Vernon throwing open the front door like a warning. He knew what Harry was doing with Draco, and sometimes made sneering comments about it that Harry pretended not to hear. He once suggested that someday somebody was going to beat the shit out of Harry for this, but never volunteered for the job himself.

Harry was in charge of the music after the mp3 player came out, rediscovering songs he'd forgotten about as he scrolled through Draco's player. Only a few of the old metal standards were there, but Draco had kept every sad song Harry had ever sent him. The highway emptied out and the stars became visible overhead.

"Want me to drive for a while?" Harry asked when Draco had been quiet long enough to make Harry worry that he might fall asleep at the wheel. Draco shook his head and yawned.

"You can drive in the morning," he said. "Let's rest for a while. I saw a sign for a Red Roof Inn back there, Exit 9."

Harry was taken off guard by the idea that morning would come, that he would wake up with Draco beside him and they would keep driving until they hit the coast. He'd spent the whole night imagining that this part of the drive would go on forever, both of them endlessly fidgeting and muttering about bands they used to like while faceless towns glowed in the distance. He started to feel nervous when Exit 9 came into view, like maybe they would get there and Draco would finally realize, out here in the real world, that Harry wasn't really that good in bed. He didn't have any technique. He'd never had anyone but Draco, and he'd invented everything they'd ever done from scratch, ideas he got from porn and from the slope of Draco's spine, the way his hips twitched when Harry did something he liked.

"I'll get the room," Harry said when they'd parked in the motel's mostly empty lot. He wanted to be productive in some way, and expected Draco to fight him on this, but Draco just nodded and rested his head on the steering wheel. Harry kept the corner of his eye on the car while he dealt with the night manager, worried about Draco sitting alone out there. He thought of what his uncle had said about somebody wanting to kick his ass for this, but the night manager seemed too tired and disinterested to notice that two teenage boys were getting a motel room together at quarter til midnight. When they walked to the room, Harry told himself that people might assume they were brothers, though they looked nothing alike. Nobody would mistake them for friends, which was why they couldn't even talk to each other in high school. It made no sense; they had nothing in common except how badly they wanted each other. Or needed. Draco had said he needed him here.

Harry knew that if he seemed lost here at the outset Draco might be spooked into regretting this, so he didn't even let him set his bag down before grabbing him and kissing him hard, walking him backward toward the bed. Draco gulped down Harry's kisses with surprised little sounds, but his eyes stayed shut and his hands twisted in Harry's shirt, trying to push it off. By the time Harry had him on his back, Draco was hard, and Harry ground his knee against Draco's trapped erection, laughing to himself when Draco arched into it, his mouth falling open, eyes still closed.

"Yeah," Draco said. He grabbed Harry's leg, held it in place. "Ngh, ah, yeah."

"Are you all tensed up from driving?" Harry asked. He moved up to pin Draco's shoulders to the bedspread, which didn't look entirely clean. "Need a deep tissue massage?"

Draco laughed, and Harry grinned down at him. They used to watch porn together when they were bored, sometimes to get hard again after the second or third time they'd come for each other, sometimes just to make fun of it. One regular contributor to the free porn network was a studio that specialized in guys getting rubbed down by fake masseuses who would eventually part their customers' ass cheeks, finger them until they were squirming and then fuck them face down on the table. Draco always got a kick out of these. Harry preferred real amateurs, though when Draco was gone they just frustrated him, because none of them were as sweet-faced as Draco, and he'd had the real thing, once.

"Yeah," Draco said, flinging his t-shirt away. "Give me the rub down."

"Psh. Hasn't been that long since I was in you. You don't get the full treatment."

"Just gonna shove in?" Draco's eyes flashed like he was daring him. Harry grunted and reached down to tear his jeans open.

"If you can take it," Harry said. "If you didn't get all fragile without me."

"I can take it," Draco said.

"You sure?" Harry lowered his mouth over Draco's, stopping just short of kissing him. "Maybe I got rougher without you."

Draco whimpered, and Harry could have laughed, but instead he just kissed him, fucking Draco's mouth with his tongue. Draco opened wide for it and squeezed Harry's ass with both hands, scrabbling at his jeans as Harry wriggled out of them.

"You want to use my come for lube?" Harry asked, watching Draco's pupils get fatter. "Still got enough of it in you? Did I fill you up deep enough last time?"

"Harry," Draco said, whispering, begging, because that was too rough for him, but Harry wasn't being serious. Once, when Harry was still a little drunk from the night before and Draco showed up looking to get plowed, Harry jabbed him at some awkward angle and Draco shouted in pain. He didn't even want Harry to pull out, just repositioned himself, but Harry was rattled and couldn't finish. That was the thing, even back when they were kids and Harry was threatening to shove bugs up his nose. Harry never really wanted to hurt him.

They got lube from Draco's bag: sunscreen, the smell making Harry think of the neighborhood pool. His uncle didn't pay dues, so Harry wasn't technically supposed to go there, but he spent all of his summers there anyway, sleeping off hangovers and watching Draco from behind a stolen pair of expensive sunglasses. They went there together before that first afternoon in Harry's bed, after that first kiss. Postponing the inevitable; as soon as Draco's lips touched his, Harry knew they'd be humping the shit out of each other before long. Draco was nervous at the pool that day, laughing nonstop, slippery against Harry's palms when they wrestled in the shallow end. The walk to Harry's house felt so long, and they were dry as dust from the scorch of the sun by the time they got there. Harry felt like he was bringing Draco to a cave that he wouldn't be able to escape from, and felt almost guilty, but then Draco asked Harry to sit on him. He wanted it just as bad as Harry did, which sort of blew him away.

"Please," Draco whispered as Harry sunk into him, and Harry wasn't sure if he was begging him to keep going slow or to let go and give it to him good. Harry kept his eyes locked on Draco's, still got hot from the back of his neck and all the way down his spine when he was on top of Draco like this, staring down at him, telling him without speaking that he was in control. Draco would always look scared for a second, then curious, submissive, and finally desperate, pulling Harry back into him when he dragged his cock out slow.

"Calm down," Harry said. He kissed Draco's cheek, the corner of his eye. "You're gonna get fucked, don't worry."

"Harry," Draco said, his voice breaking. He reached up and looped his arms around the back of Harry's neck, pulling him down, his hips wiggling as he tried to get him deeper. Normally Harry would grunt and pin Draco's wrists, remind him that he was calling the shots, but it felt too good, tonight, far from home, to press his face to Draco's neck and let his breath out until their chests pressed together.

"Damn," Harry said, all the fight leaving him as his body locked into Draco's, everything inextricable at last.

"So good, feels so good," Draco was whispering, crazed with something that was probably nine-tenths exhaustion, his hand moving through Harry's hair.

"Think you could come like this?" Harry asked. "Just from having me in you?"

Draco made a disapproving noise; he didn't want that, he wanted to get pounded. Maybe all guys his age who liked it up the ass were as good as taking it as Draco, but Harry liked to think that he was especially good at this, or needy, or trusting. It had bothered the hell out of him to think of someone else taking advantage of this, but maybe Draco would be cautious and tense for anybody else.

"C'mere," Harry said, though Draco couldn't get any closer. They kissed, tongues still buzzing from the Altoids they'd chewed on in the car. That peppermint would have felt good around his dick; Harry even liked the sting of mouthwash if he was in the right mood. But tonight he had no time for blow jobs. This was exactly where he wanted to be: buried deep in Draco and still able to kiss him.

"You got all strong," Draco said, squeezing Harry's biceps with both hands. Harry flexed for him, laughing like this was a ridiculous comment and not the highest compliment he could have asked for. He'd been hoping that Draco had noticed.

"Want it vertical?" Harry asked. "I could hold you up while you take it." It was too close to saying _hold you_, maybe, which was what Harry usually did anyway, even if it was a growling fuck from behind.

"No, just like this," Draco said. His voice was small, his eyes soft, like there was nothing to be afraid of now. Ha. Harry rubbed his thumbs over Draco's freckles, glad that at least one of them thought so.

"Pretty boy," Harry said, whispering. He kept saying that without meaning to. He hadn't forgotten what Draco looked like, but it was catching him off guard anyway. Draco squeezed around him, hard, trying to get him to move. Harry let his eyes fall shut, swallowed down most of his moan.

"I've never done it in a motel room before," Draco said. Something about his tone made Harry think of the first time they shot off fireworks together. Draco had been scared. Harry gave him a sparkler to calm him down.

"So I'm taking your motel room virginity, too?" Harry said, as if this was actually news to him. Draco snorted.

"You took every kind," he said. "Everything."

That word set them both off, and they kept kissing the whole time, something they hadn't done since the first time, when they were both afraid to stop, afraid to meet each other's eyes. Harry tried not to think about anything while their bodies slapped together, but he couldn't turn his mind off, and he wondered if the night manager could hear them. He slid his hand over Draco's mouth.

"Shh," he whispered, and for some reason this made Draco go off, moaning against Harry's palm as he sprayed his chest with come. After that, Harry _had_ to think, or he was going to blow his load, too: he made himself consider the morning, the drive, the palm trees, and the future that was as hard to picture as the Pacific Ocean. As any ocean.

"Harry," Draco said when he took his hand away. Draco was as wrecked by this as ever, panting and pink-cheeked, fucking _cute_. Harry kissed him until he couldn't concentrate on anything but snapping his hips as hard as he could, and he let Draco shout and curse while he took it, didn't cover his mouth again. Harry moaned into Draco's hair when he came, let the room spin around him without trying to remember where he was. Draco kissed his face, soft, like he needed comforting.

"Shit," Harry said. He lay there listening for any hint that they'd been overheard. Draco wasn't jailbait anymore, but something about this had to be illegal. He lifted his head and looked down at Draco, who grinned.

"I haven't spent the whole night with you since I was eight," he said.

Harry pulled out of him, away from him, not appreciating the reminder. He headed for the bathroom with his bag of toiletries and shut himself inside, heart racing. He still had bad dreams about that night. In the dreams he tried to climb up to Draco's window and couldn't get there, or found it locked when he arrived, sometimes with Draco on the other side, trying just as desperately to get to him, both of them crying when the window wouldn't budge. Harry couldn't remember ever crying in front of anyone else. In middle school he had told himself he was only being nice to Draco because Draco was keeping his secret: Harry had cried. He had let somebody hold him.

He took a long shower, expecting Draco to intervene and assuming he had fallen asleep when he didn't. When he got out he rubbed the fog from the mirror and took his pocket knife from his jeans. Hacking off his hair wasn't as easy as he'd thought it would be, but buzzing the remains of it away felt so good that he dug out his straight razor and shaved his face, too. When he was done, he had less than half an inch of fuzz on his head, nothing on his face but a scowl. He felt a stab of regret as he rubbed his hand over his chin. There was no point in denying it: all his armor was fucking gone.

He left the bathroom expecting Draco to be curled up on his side, fast asleep, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed looking anxious, and he stood when Harry walked out. Harry watched the surprise register on his face.

"Oh," Draco said. He was wearing flannel sleep pants; they were too big for him, sagging around his hips.

"What?" Harry said, fidgeting.

"I forgot what you look like with a buzz cut," Draco said. He grinned and took Harry's wrists, pulled him toward the bed. "C'mere."

When Harry was properly installed under the blankets, Draco turned off the lamp. He leaned up over Harry for a long time, kissing his face and rubbing his hand through Harry's hair. Harry let him do it, drifting in and out of sleep. It was like the sparklers. Sometimes Draco needed to be calmed down.

"That night," Draco said, because he could never take a hint. "I remember – I always thought about it. The way your hair felt. Just like this."

Harry pretended to be asleep. It was the same thing he had done that night, until Draco fell asleep for real, still wrapped around him. Harry had stayed awake and listened to the storm, Draco's heartbeat, the quiet of the house. He'd been afraid someone would show up, pound on the door, take him away. In the motel room, three hundred miles from anyone who knew their names, he was still waiting, clinging hard to Draco as soon as he fell asleep.

No one came. In the morning, the room was still dark at nine AM, and Draco threw the heavy drapes back to reveal blazing sunlight. Harry sat up in bed and squinted at the window, confused. He couldn't remember which state they were in, and it took him some time to even remember where they were going: toward the ocean, a place where they would wake up together like this every day. He stayed in bed, hands in his lap, blankets pooled around his waist, and watched Draco repack his bag.

"So?" Draco said. "Did you sleep well?"

Ten years ago, Harry would have lied. He took off running that morning, after the storm had cleared. Knew he'd be back, though.

"Yeah," he said. "Slept pretty good."

Draco grinned. Harry used to get such a kick out of watching him squirm, which meant one thing when they were kids and another when they were teenagers. Making him happy was a different sort of victory, transferable like solar energy, powering him up. He got out of bed and walked naked to the window, slapping Draco's ass on the way there.

"I'm driving today," he said.

"Awesome," Draco said, and that was the thing about Draco. He liked it when Harry was behind the wheel, but he could still drag Harry to the other side of the country without breaking a sweat. Harry gave his clean-faced reflection a sneering smile. He didn't know what state they were in or how much longer it would take to get where they were going, but: fuck it. He knew he was in the right place.


End file.
